Part 19:

The footage showed him in handcuffs being led to a police car, his expensive suit rumpled and his face red with anger. Ethan watched it on his phone and felt nothing. No satisfaction, no vindication, just exhaustion. His phone rang. Rebecca Marsh. Have you seen the news? Yeah. Kavanaaugh’s lawyer is already making statements, calling it a politically motivated prosecution, saying you and Celeste conspired to frame him.

 Let him say whatever he wants. The evidence speaks for itself. It does. But this isn’t over. The trial could take months, maybe a year, and Kavanaaugh’s team is going to come after you hard. They already have. This will be worse. Depositions, cross-examination. They’ll try to break you down, find inconsistencies, make you look unreliable. She paused.

 Are you ready for that? Ethan thought about Maya, about Sarah Mitchell and David Torres and Jennifer Huang, about the four people who were dead and the hundreds who were hurt. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.” “Good, because we’ve got work to do.” The deposition started 3 weeks later in a conference room that smelled like old carpet and recycled air.

Kavanaaugh’s legal team had assembled a war chest, four attorneys from a white shoe firm in Manhattan, all expensive suits and calculated smiles. The lead council was a man named Harrison Webb, 60some with silver hair and the kind of courtroom presence that came from 40 years of making witnesses squirm.

 Ethan sat across from him with Rebecca at his side. A court reporter typed silently in the corner. Webb started gently. Background questions where Ethan grew up, his education, his work history, lulling him into a rhythm. Then the tone shifted. Mr. Cross, you claim you documented 1,847 failures of the TC4471B tensioner over 10 years.

 That’s a remarkable number. It’s not a claim, it’s a fact. And you expect us to believe you remember all of these in detail? I don’t remember them all. That’s why I wrote them down. Webb smiled. Of course, your famous notebooks. Tell me, Mr. Cross, did anyone witness you making these entries? No, I worked alone.

 So, we only have your word that these entries are contemporaneous, that you didn’t, say, fabricate them later when you decided to go after my client? Rebecca cut in. That’s speculation, not a question. Webb nodded. Let me rephrase. Mr. Cross, is there any independent verification that these notebooks were created in real time rather than backdated? Ethan had anticipated this.

 The notebooks are cross-referenced with service records that have timestamps, customer invoices, parts orders, VIN numbers that can be verified against NHTSA databases. Anyone who wants to check can check. But the handwritten analysis, the technical observations, those could have been added later. They weren’t. How can you prove that? I can’t prove a negative.

 But the federal prosecutors had forensic document examiners look at the notebooks. They found no evidence of tampering or backdating. Webb paused, flipped through his notes. Let’s talk about your relationship with Celeste Vaughn. When did you first meet her? November 2023. She came to my shop. And what did she want? Help understanding what was happening with the recall.

 Did she offer you money? Yes. How much? She didn’t specify, just said she’d compensate me for my time, and you turned it down. I told her I wanted her to look at the evidence first. Webb leaned forward. Isn’t it true, Mr. Cross, that you saw an opportunity? A billionaire CEO desperate for answers and you sitting on a decade of documentation.

 Sounds like leverage to me. I wasn’t looking for leverage. I was looking for someone who’d actually do something about the problem. Convenient that the someone happened to be the richest person in the room. Rebecca stood up. Council is testifying. Ask a question or move on. Webb smiled. Mr. Cross, have you received any financial benefit from your cooperation with the prosecution? No.

 No consulting fees, no payment for your testimony. No. What about the house you’re currently living in? The one owned by Celeste Vaughn. Ethan’s jaw tightened. It’s temporary. She offered it because my daughter was being threatened. How convenient. The billionaire CEO provides you with free housing while you testify against her former COO.

 And you expect us to believe there’s no quid proquo? She’s protecting a six-year-old child from people who sent death threats. That’s not a quidd proquo. That’s basic human decency. The deposition went on for 6 hours. Webb picked at every detail, every timeline, every motivation. By the end, Ethan’s head throbbed and his patience was gone.

But he’d held his ground. In the car afterward, Rebecca was quiet. “What?” Ethan asked. “You did well. Better than well, but he got what he wanted. which is a narrative. Struggling mechanic meets billionaire CEO. She provides housing security resources. In exchange, he provides testimony that destroys her rival.

 It’s not true, but it’s plausible enough to create doubt. The evidence is still the evidence. Evidence can be reframed. That’s what good defense attorneys do. She glanced at him. This is going to get uglier before it’s over. She was right. Two days later, a story broke in a major newspaper. Whistleblower living in luxury while testifying against auto executive.

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